Of tears not I talk today,
Sunrise itself has filled droughts.
Of cries have littered all today,
Water itself has dried mysterious spots.
Intervening with senses whose profession was,
Itself has fallen lose apart.
Yet high scores determine the older better scenes,
But time yet speaks of better knowledge.
Of how prosperous than it was before,
When show melted and died for hunger,
When it rained at high peaks,
But looted near lands courtesy.
Of humans shall outshine their sign,
Their presence shall smile and adorn the high scores.
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